


mirror mirror

by Isacaaron



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, Other, my second fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isacaaron/pseuds/Isacaaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>every one needs someone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	mirror mirror

**Author's Note:**

> i don't own the characters but i do love playing with them. that being said all errors are my own. that an i have no idea where this came from...wouldn't mind seeing a pic of it though. comments are welcome and appreciated but not necessary.

The mirror its self isn't special, it hold no magics, not yet anyway. Not until it's given life. Now It's just a sheet of glass, reflecting the small amounts of light there are and bouncing them around. It's sits all in a large cavern of a room, the pedestals that sit around it are more intricate than the obsidian carvings edging the mirror. Yet the pedestals for all their majesty are covered with cob webs and dust, the mirror remains pure, no webs or dust, no signs of wear. Well taken care of. Bare feet slap the floor stopping a few feet away from it, but still to far to reflect any form. A black shroud is pulled back reveling raven colored hair, pale Grey toned skin comes into view. Fingers trace over the delicate onyx colored roses carved on the top of the frame. It's then that the cobwebbed covered candles resting on the pedestals light, pouring just enough light to see a few feet.   
The mirrors surface ripples as a hand touches it. Unnatural Amber eyes glow with the dancing flames; before delicate eye lashes press to cheeks. There is irony here, but he fails to see it. The nightmare king, caressing a simple mirror. With hands that have destroyed planets, created grotesquely beautiful nightmares from nothing but shadow and sand. Not this time though, his voice is strained as he whispers words only he knows. His tongue curling around vowels and syllables of a long forgotten language. He voice fades away before lips press a gentle and chaste kiss on the surface that ripples once more. Stepping back he bows his head ignoring the hair that falls in his face. Sweat beads up on his forehead as he concentrates several more words falling; before the mirrors surface turns to sand as black as the darkest shadows.  
He picks at small invisible dirt on his robe, before smiling the sweetest of smiles. A hand pulls away from the rippling glass, followed by what one outside of the room would deem impossible. Pitch knows better though, this is his favorite nightmare. He looks up from under heavy eye lids as a rough hand lifts his chin. Eyes that mirror his stare back, “Good morning love.” he whispers voice calm and measured. His copy laughs before extending a hand, this isn't a game, there is no love here. Except maybe that he loves himself best of all. Rather he is all he has, everyone on the face of the planet and many others deemed him a monster. He is all those things, and he does a good job at the torment of other; but it is a lonely existence. Constantly living in fear that he will be forgotten. Shaking his head, he looks at himself, before taking an equally cool hand.   
Hands press him down in front of the now solid surface of glass, forcing him to look at what he is. So he looks with rapture and hatred, and a thousand other words that filter through his mind.   
“You are thinking to much again.”   
He laughs loud but it's a sorrow and hollow sound, “Yes, but you should know me better by now. I alwa..” a fingertip presses to his lips silencing the rest of the sentence. He tilts his head and watches again, as more and more of his flesh is bared to the chill of the room. He takes in the unmarred planes of his chest, worries a lips at the delicate indent of his navel; before his eyes follow the black dusting of soft hair trailing down further. His clothing is finally pulled free and he looks away, not wanting to see what he knows is there. A hand brushes his hair out of his face, before a warm chest presses to his back.   
“Look at how perfect.” his twins hand traces the out line of his lips before turning his head towards the mirror.   
Eyes the same as his yet some how different in the emotions they convey, lock with his. It's breathtaking, and he moans ever quietly at the sight, a chin resting on his shoulder, he reaches up to capture the hand on his lips. His tongue slips out to lap at the pads of each finger. He watches with enraptured attention eye lashes close over Amber eyes, pressing black lashes against ash colored flesh. The fingers stroke his tongue as he pulls each one into his mouth, not wasting a single moment, he takes in the texture, the taste. Until he is shivering against the chest pressed to his back, he can feel the racing heart. His own body reacts the same as his hand is taken and showed just as much tender affection.   
Pitch laces their hands together and trails it down his body until it rests just above his heart. He drops his hands to his sides and leaves them there. Just surveys his twins hand as it pinches and rolls one tiny nipple between a thumb and forefinger. He whines, heat coiling in his stomach, pooling in his groin. He knows he is hard with out having to look down, because the mirror reveals it. He hates this moment, the moment of in decision, where he thinks he will just end this endless torment. He doesn't, the mirror never lies to him, never fails. It's sole purpose in life is to show, to pull together the pieces of his soul.   
His moan echoes of the walls as that hand that had been a moment before dipping in and out of his navel. Circling and teasing touches before sliding in a image, a promise of what is to come. That hand an expert at this part, teases the tip of his leaking cock, smearing the thick fluid. Two finger trace down to press and encase, to tease. He whine and arches his hips pressing hard and needy against the palm of that torturous hand. He leans forward as the other comes to tempt and squeeze his firm ass. He doesn't beg for it, doesn't need to. Words were of no importance here, just pleasure pure and unbridled.   
Pitch throws his head back and cries out as two fingers roughly push past a tight ring of muscle. The burn is sweet and he relishes it welcomes it. Wants it, hates, needs.... he pushes back, sliding them deeper, opening himself up on them. For lack of a better word fucking himself on what is offered. His armor, his self built walls crumble and all that matters is this moment. Eyes lock before something much bigger replaces those fingers, something he need more than he should. His mouth is curled into a splendid smile, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He is bent over hands pressing against a stone floor, but Pitch's eyes never leave the mirror. His mouth opens to spill a litany of curses and words of more and harder; before he starts pushing back. He groans in appreciation as nails rake down his sides, massage his thighs; before sliding around his chest to pull him up.   
Pitch wraps his arms around the copies neck, turning his head to touch tongues and lips. Teeth clink together and bite just enough to hurt. He thinks that this what heaven must be like, but his thoughts are jerked to a dead stop as his cock is roughly grabbed. He rocks and twists his hips pushing into that hand, so deliciously talented. It toys with him, teasing the tips of his cock again before cradling and squeezing his balls. Pitch's eye lids start to slide closed before a tongue laps at the sweet spot just behind his ear.   
He readjusts himself enough so that every thrust hits his that tiny bundle of nerves that sends him reeling into space. Until lights dance in front of his eyes, he growls when the hand on his cock falls away.   
“Just like you want.”   
Pitch nods, 'of course.' he listens to the rough tones of his own voice, the promises and the lies. The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills his ears after those delicate lips fall silent. Moans and curses follow soon after and he is close dangling on the edge, just one more push and he is golden. He screams as his cum splash against the front of the mirror, just as it fills him with steady heat. Panting he draws patterns on his stomach, before lifting his cum covered fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, Pitch stays still for a few more moments; before he sits up more hands falling to his sides. He whimpers as the heat is pulled from him, whines as cum seeps from him. He presses his lips against his own, before a single tear drips from his eyes.   
Nightmare sand swirls around him as he stands using his robe to cautiously and gently wipe the mirror down. Stepping back he lifts a hand to his own face, to catch the tear dangling on his chin. He screams in pain, and in ruin. Sorrow and false hope. He would have his day! When that day came he would see this mirror burned until the glass bubbles. He shrugs on his tarnished robe, pulling to hood over his head. The candle flames die the second he leaves the room, but inside he can hear laughter that mirrors his own.


End file.
